Revelations
by Sar'Kalu
Summary: AU. sickHarry! What does it take to change a persons opinion?
1. A Revelation in Worry

**Title:** Revelations  
**Author: **Sar'Kalu  
**Summary:** _What does it take to change a persons opinion? For Petunia Dursley, it was her nephew almost dying, for Dudley Dursley, it was his mother crying, for Severus Snape it was the revelation that his redemption was possible in the brilliant green eyes of a thirteen year old boy and for Harry Potter, it was the chance of a better life and a family who cared for him._  
**Rating:** M15+, pain, hurt, family, swearing, tragedy  
**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers.

**A/N:** This has been an idea in my mind for a while now, and I realise that this is a plot that has been done forever but this is my own take on the sickHarry! theme. Not for the faint hearted, there will be tears (hell, I cried while writing it) and sadness. Reviews are welcome, I'd like to keep it as 'real' as possible and reviews make that a reality. Thank you all.

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**Chapter One: A Revelation in Worry**

"Up! Up!"

The hammering on his wooden door wouldn't stop. The boy curled up in on himself and cradled his head in pain, hoping the woman would leave him be.

"Get up! _Now_!"

He groaned but ignored her shrill commands, for once deciding that the inability to stand overruled his cruel Aunt's directives. The door was thrown open with a loud bang and the boy cracked open his heavily lidded eyes to peer our at the tall, thin, bony woman who stood commandingly on his threshold.

"_Get up_!" She demanded.

He groaned, unable to move. His body was on fire, a fever burning through him cruelly.

The woman paused, frowning at him. Taking in his sweaty appearance. Sharp hazel eyes swept along his skinny length that was curled up pitifully beneath thin blankets. His sweaty pale face was characterised by thick circles beneath his eyes and the skin drawn tightly across his skull. There was no way he was healthy.

His Aunt sighed in annoyance and snapped the door shut, approaching his bed carefully, her thin nose wrinkling in disgust as the smell of sour sweat and sickness. "Boy, are you well?"

The boy moaned and closed his eyes, unwilling, or perhaps unable to talk.

His Aunt, who could never be accused of caring for him unnecessarily, or even at all, frowned once more. As much as she hated the boy, she didn't want him dead.

"Boy?" She asked.

"Harry." She sighed his name wearily, as though it pained her, reaching out and brushing her bony hand along his forehead. "Harry, look at me."

Harry, the boy, managed to crack his eyes open once more, tears welling in their depths as he took in the unwillingly concerned visage of his Aunt.

"Aun' Tunia." He slurred, his eyes sliding closed once more.

Petunia flinched backwards, the abbreviation of her name recalling the sweet faced three year old who had looked up to her with shining, hope-filled eyes. Harry, unlike her own son, had loved her once, hoping that she would one day return the sentiment. It was one more reason to hate the boy who outshone her own bratty child.

"Oh, Harry." She breathed, allowing herself to feel sympathy for the boy who had been shoved so unhappily upon her perfect life. "No chores today. Sleep, Harry. They can wait until tomorrow."

Petunia sighed once more and found herself hoping that neither Vernon nor Marge would think to look in on the boy. Dudley would be easily steered from the thirteen year old child, but Vernon and Marge loved taunting her nephew. It was an unnecessary cruelty that Petunia knew would break her sisters heart should Lily still be alive. Lily who would weep at the condition of her beloved boy.

Petunia snuck from the room and locked the door, hoping to excuse the boy's absence through the use of contagion. Neither Vernon nor Marge were particularly smart, they would hopefully obey her rules, for now. Smiling at the thought, and unwittingly defending the boy who she blamed for everything, Petunia Dursley entered the kitchen humming lightly and ignoring her husbands questions about her sick nephew.

Just this once she would help the boy, just this once she would care for him to the best of her ability; after all, it wouldn't do for him to die.

X

Harry woke to his Aunt sneaking once more into his room a large glass of water and a bowl of chicken soup in her hands. Petunia was tight mouthed and angry as she stalked towards the feverish boy on the bed and with swift movements, had deposited the soup and water on his bedside table. With his help, Petunia manoeuvred her nephew into a seated position, briefly concerned at how weak and thin he was. Harry had always been thin and bony for his age, but she had hardly ever starved him, oh certainly she hadn't fed him as much as he might have needed as a growing boy. But she was guilty of negligence more than abuse.

"Eat." She snapped as she puttered around his room, straightening the boys affects. Her hazel eyes watching him sharply.

It had been three days since she had found Harry practically comatose in bed and so far nothing had changed. Petunia admitted, deep in the privacy of her own mind that she was worried for her nephew. As much as she professed to hate the boy, she didn't wish to see him dead. And so for the past three days had been sneaking upstairs with soup and water for the boy to eat. His eyes were a dull hazy green and Petunia promised herself that the moment she could, that she would drag the boy off to a doctor, it wasn't normal that a thirteen year old boy was so sick and tired.

Marge and Vernon were downstairs roaring with laughter and good spirits, Dudley sat beside them eating constantly as his eyes never left the third television that had been a 'welcome home' gift for him. Petunia often wondered if Dudley would be more like her nephew if he had been brought up properly, rather than spoiled. Shaking her head free of such 'blasphemous' thoughts, Petunia watched the boy take a small sip of his clear, cool water before returning to staring listlessly at the bowl of chicken soup.

Despite the boys illness and weariness, he still managed a small smile for her, his gratefulness easily recognised in the dull orbs so reminiscent of his mothers. It was times like this, with her nephew before her and so polite and deferring, that Petunia often found herself hating the boy even more than usual. Harry was everything she had wanted in a son, and he was her sisters, while her own son was overweight and rude. The miniature of his father with none of her character. It was infuriating.

Harry managed three mouthfuls before subsiding into exhaustion. Petunia watched him for a moment, unwittingly observed in turn by the large snowy owl who sat so calmly in her cage. Hedwig watched her Master's Aunt, intrigued by the female humans sorrow and pain that dwelt within her breast. Petunia was often reminded of Lily by the boy with her eyes. Much like Harry's potion master Severus Snape, Petunia was haunted by eyes of green and hair like fire each time she stared into the youthful face of Harry.

_It was so unfair,_ she complained silently, staring down at the boy. _What had she done to deserve this?_

Sighing once more, Petunia slipped from the room, leaving the glass of water behind upon the beside table as the only sign that she had been there at all. The bowl of soup in her hands as she slunk back downstairs, her nephew quietly and exhaustedly asleep again in his bed.

Petunia was the ghost who never was, quietly making sure that her unwanted charge would heal and recover with all his strength. She might hate the boy, but she would hardly let him die, nor would she fail her sister as she had some twelve year before.

X

There was a gentle knock at his door. Harry groaned slightly and dragged the covers over his head and tried to ignore the noise in a vain attempt to make it go away. He wanted nothing to do with the outside world. It was too bright, too loud and too painful right now.

"Harry?"

Petunia opened the white wood door and stared at the flushed face of her nephew and frowned in slight worry. Harry was still sick, even after a week. Harry's magic had always managed to heal him by now, but whatever was attacking the boy now was far too much for his magic to deal with now. Vernon and Marge had taken Dudley out for the day, to the zoo if they were to be believed. Undoubtably the trio would end up at the movies or theatre in Covent Garden and then the shopping centre Stratford. They were a bit obvious at times.

Still, this meant that Petunia could now so what was needed, Harry wasn't going to get better without a Doctor which meant a hospital. Sighing heavily, Petunia stalked forwards, her white blouse and crisp skirt unnatural in the messy bedroom of a thirteen year old boy and she felt severely out of place as she dug through Harry's school trunk, pulling free a pair of boxers and his toiletries. Petunia then shook her nephew awake, ignoring his pained moans of protest, bundling him into the shower and scrubbing him clean with efficient movements.

Equally ignoring his shock and embarrassment at he accompanying him into the bathroom. Petunia rolled her eyes at teenage sensibilities, he could barely stand and apparently expected her to leave him alone so he could slip and crack his head open. Fool boy.

Leaving the boy to soak up the warmth from the hot water, Petunia ducked into her sons room, disgusted by Harry's clothing. She rattled through her sons wardrobe and pulled out a smallish t-shirt and a pair of pants -which Petunia distinctly had no recollection of buying for Dudley- she then returned to the bathroom and pulled the plug free. Hauling the unresponsive boy upright, Petunia proceeded to roughly scrub the teen the dry, ignoring the messy state of his hair or the pink flush of his slightly raw skin.

"Get dressed." She directed, waiting for a moment to see if the shower had woken the slightly comatose boy at all.

Frowning with increasing worry, Petunia started to dress the teen as she had when he was a toddler. Harry had been such a good baby, hardly ever crying (another reason to hate him) unlike Dudley. Harry had been the first to be potty-trained, the first to speak in full sentences, the first to say 'I love you, Mum' to her. Not even Vernon had said that he'd loved her recently. It was just pain upon pain, emphasising the pain-filled, lonely existence that Petunia lived.

Sighing heavily Petunia sat the boy on the edge of his bed once more and shoved his unresponsive feet into his cracked shoes. Dull, hazy green eyes watched her uncomprehendingly and occasionally a tear stole its way down his thin, pale cheek as his body ached with foreign pain. Petunia was unable to truly express her worry for the boy and so snapped and snarled at him as she threw together a bag of night things, stumbling across a worn photo album in his trunk. Without looking at the contents, Petunia tossed the album into the rucksack along with a normal school banner. The gold and red was garish and reminded Petunia of Lily's old house, it would be like her nephew to follow in her sister's footsteps.

When she's finished packing Harry's rucksack, she grabbed an old red comforter and threw it about the boys thin shoulders and with a steady grip, pulled him upright and directed him out the front door and into the awaiting car. Petunia swept the length of the street worriedly, hoping that none of the neighbours saw her leaving with the freak, but with swift movements, soon had the boy strapped into the front seat and the bag at his feet.

As Petunia drove down the street, leaving Number Four behind her, a large black dog watched with concern as the silver car disappeared around the bend. What was wrong with the boy?


	2. A Revelation In Awareness

**Chapter Two: A Revelation In Awareness**

Petunia managed to convince the receptionist at _Queen Mary's Hospital for Children_ that her nephew was more than _just_ sick, in fact she was more than just slightly worried that he was far beyond 'just sick'. Harry sat unresponsive of the hustle and bustle around him as he listed to the side in the chair that he sat on in the waiting room. Petunia shot the boy a concerned glance, vaguely worried that he might actually collapse out of his chair and onto the floor. Apparently the receptionist shared her worry and brought out a wheelchair and between the two of them managed to direct the teen into a more comfortable position.

The receptionist ran a hand over Harry's scarred forehead and frowned in concern, assuring Petunia that she would be back very soon and bustled off in an efficient manner, a clipboard in her hand and a stern expression on her face. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and sickness to Petunia's nose, a smell that reminded her of her father's passing from cancer nearly twenty years prior. Petunia turned to her nephew and tugged the red comforter around the dozing boy and tucked the edges around his thin arms and frail hands.

Petunia sighed and brushed a hand through the boys messy mop and wondered just what was wrong with the boy.

"Mrs. Dursley?" A smooth voice asked from behind her.

Petunia swung around, surprised, and met the warm brown eyes of a youthful looking doctor in a white lab coat carrying a clipboard in his hand. Three pens sat in his breast pocket and he was smiling reassuringly.

"Yes?" She asked, confused.

The Doctor smiled slightly. "My name is Robert Summers."

Petunia nodded, not speaking.

"If you could follow me? We're in examination room one today." He said calmly.

With long strides, Doctor Summers led Petunia into the examination room and with her aid, pulled the sleepy Harry onto the examination table. His expression concerned as he took in the boys lethargy and unresponsiveness, the Doctor started to take down notes regarding his patients health. The Doctor paused in the taking of Harry's blood pressure and turned the boys arm over in shock.

"Mrs. Dursley, what is this?" He asked, showing a circular scar around ten centimetres in diameter just above the thirteen year olds elbow.

Petunia stared in shock at the shiny cicatrix. "I don't know." She murmured, leaning forwards to look at the scar's surface.

"It's not too old." The Doctor murmured, writing down his observations. "Around three months ago, I would hazard a guess, going from the state of healing."

"Three months?" Petunia asked, shocked. "He never said..." She trailed off, guiltily aware that she'd never asked and had even forbidden the boy from speaking of his life at Hogwarts and of magic.

The Doctor stared at her in surprise. "Where did he get it?" He asked.

"Probably at school." Petunia replied absently. "Hogwarts School for the Gifted."

Petunia was mildly surprised that she could remember the cover story that Lily had once used, and knew that using Vernon's preferred and slanderous tale would only raise further questions. She stared down at her nephew and wondered just how much trouble the boy got into. Lily had never held back on some of the horror stories regarding failed magic, yet another reason why Petunia was terrified of it.

Magic could steal your memories, could blow you up, could melt you down, could cause you pain. Could kill you without leaving mark nor sign nor reason for your passing. Petunia felt justified in her hate and fear of magic.

"Mrs. Dursley?" The Doctor's voice drifted through her consciousness, and Petunia started in surprise.

"Sorry?" She asked, mildly embarrassed. "Did you say something?"

"Where is this school for the gifted?" The Doctor asked.

"Scotland. I'm not sure where exactly, it's very exclusive and hard to get to. It's for old money, which my nephew's father was."

Petunia remembered with angry bitterness how Lily and her fiancé James Potter had turned up to her wedding in clothing worth more than her yearly pay-check at the time. Lily certainly hadn't meant the slight, but the sneering laugh on James' face had explained everything. Payback for all the slights, the cruel words and the unfair judgement that Petunia had once paid Lily each year she had gone to _that_ school; and in one afternoon in less than three hours James Potter had paid her back with interest for it all.

"What's his name?"

"Harry James Potter." Petunia answered absently, reaching out to smooth the boys tangled hair back from his brow, revealing the jagged lightning bolt scar upon his forehead.

Had Petunia known that at that moment she appeared to be so sad, so weary and so pained as she looked upon her sleeping and very sick nephew, she might have leapt back as though burned. Instead, before a young and worried Doctor, Petunia finally appeared the Aunt she was and should be; caring and scared for the health and well-being of her nephew, the child of her once-beloved sister.

X

Harry was hooked up to a series of drip bags; saline, nutrients, and a generic antibiotics was slowly flooding his system, ensuring his nourishment and continued life while his tired Aunt sat beside his bedside awaiting news of the blood work that the Doctor had promised her. The red comforter was folded neatly on the end of the bed, while the plain hospital blankets were drawn tightly beneath the boys arms, his hands resting gently on his slowly raising and lowering stomach.

Petunia listened to each slow, deep breath with care, counting each affirmation that Harry was still alive, if not well. And she tugged ineffectually at the blanket that covered the child with impatient fingers. Curfew was approaching and she would have to leave the boy behind soon, which she refused to do without knowing what her nephew was suffering from. Strange as this new protective feeling was, Petunia couldn't deny that the boy had grown on her. Rather like a fungus, annoying and not entirely healthy, you couldn't deny that it was there nor could you deny that you held some sort of affection for it now you were used to it.

There was a soft knock at the door and Petunia found herself snatching up her nephews thin hand as Doctor Summers entered, his face grave.

"Yes?" She asked, hopeful, yet knowing that there was only bad news.

Doctor Summers shook his head slightly. "Harry has very high levels of white blood cells, however, despite this abnormality, the tests were inconclusive. Tomorrow we will be performing a lumbar puncture and a bone marrow sample."

Petunia had frozen at the words 'high levels of white blood cells', as far as she knew there was only one cause of that, and it was never good. "But what does he have?" She asked, frightened.

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know. After the tests I'll be able to say." He replied apologetically.

Petunia nodded and returned to her gaze to her peacefully sleeping nephew. The past week and a bit had been a harrowing repetition of worry and fear that Harry wouldn't get better. And now at the hospital the results were inconclusive, meaning that yes something was very wrong. Petunia stared at her usually dark but cheerful nephew and wondered what could cause a teenager to sleep for nearly twenty hours a day. What had caused the thick cicatrix on his arm?

Petunia sighed heavily and tugged the blanket covering her nephew once more and stood, noticing with vague surprise that Doctor Summers had left already and exiting the room. Leaving behind her sick nephew and the steady beeping of the hospital machines. All that was left to do now was to impart her day to her cruel husband and his equally vicious sister knowing that there would be no help nor aid from her indifferent son. Petunia sighed once more and unwillingly climbed into her car, weary beyond what someone of her thirty-five years should feel.

X

Vernon hadn't been pleased to learn of Petunia's actions and had actually made to raise his hand against her before Marge had interjected against his movement, surprising Petunia no end.

"After all," Marge laughed raucously. "The little freak might die there!"

Petunia felt her heart sink once more and with a tight smile busied herself in making dinner. Dudley watched his mother with piggy eyes, his mind whirring behind his pale baby blues, and Petunia wondered what her son was thinking. She doubted that it was anything good.

"Mum." Dudley's voice rose over the cheerfully bickering sounds of Vernon and Marge in the backyard.

Petunia turned to her son, curious. "Yes, Dudley?"

Dudley frowned. "If Harry dies, does that mean I can have my second bedroom back?"

Petunia's eyes suddenly welled with tears. "Don't!" She snapped, pain lacing her words. "Don't you dare speak like that! Your cousin will be fine!"

Dudley stared at her in shock. "But-"

"No, Dudley!" Petunia snapped. "Don't even start. You would do well to take a leaf out of your cousins book every now and then."

Petunia turned once more and started to chop up the carrots for the salad, ignoring her son's shocked expression. It had been an awful day made even worse by her thoughtless son and horrid husband. How had she ever accepted Vernon's treatment of her innocent nephew? A boy who had never done anything to herself nor Vernon. Even Dudley was guilty of Harry's thin arms and frail body. And with a jolt of realisation, Petunia realised that she was feeling guilty that she was here, safe, happy (of a sort) and healthy, while Harry lay nearly comatose in a hospital bed unwittingly awaiting the results that would spell whether he would live to become an adult.

Petunia bit back a choked sob, realising that Harry might never grown up, might never kiss a girl; would probably never finish school. Silent tears rolled down her thin cheeks from her green-hazel eyes, eyes so like the one that had characterised her fiery haired sister and her midnight haired nephew. Years had been spent in denial of her responsibility, her charge, her duty, and now in the wake of losing everything, Petunia had come into a horrible self awareness.

X

Dudley Dursley was not a clever boy, he was not a nice boy but he was a boy who loved his mother dearly, even if he didn't always express it. And in the small, spotless kitchen of Number Four Privet Drive, Dudley watched his mother cut carrots and cry silently over a boy he had been taught to hate with the very fibre of his being. A boy who had been labelled freak, unnatural, and bad.

As Dudley watched his mother cry he came to the realisation, as all young children do, that he never wanted to see his mother cry again. Mothers weren't meant to cry, they were meant to make everything better, hug you and make sure the nightmares run away with their tails between their legs. And with his realisation, Dudley also realised what his mother did, his cousin had never had a mother to hug him, kiss his sore spots better nor make the nightmares run away. Harry had never had what Dudley had.

This realisation was not one of those bolts of recognition that causes a person to change themselves for the better, Dudley wasn't good at self-evaluation, no, what it did do was send a normally selfish boy into his mothers arms and hug her tightly. Doing for his mother what she had once done to him whenever he needed it.

It was by no means a applause worthy effort, but it was a beginning, and for Petunia Dursley, it was a point where she felt closest to her son. A point where she could look back and pin point the exact moment when her selfish son took the step towards becoming a better person. All it took was his mother crying over the lost little orphan who now lay in a hospital bed, sick and nearly dying, that both had hated for close to twelve years.


	3. A Revelation In Danger

**Chapter Three: A Revelation In Danger**

Petunia returned to the Hospital in the following evening, there she found her nephew upright and conscious for the first time in three days. A relieved smile lit her thin features and she hurried to his bed, a hand extended to take his temperature. Harry watched her in dumbfounded curiosity, uncomplaining as she fussed about him.

"I have been so worried young man!" She scolded him. "You never woke, you never ate, and you were so feverish and sick."

Petunia's voice thickened as she spoke and upon the final word she choked unwillingly. The past week had been hard and wearying upon the middle aged house wife, and Harry had no idea just what she had been through. Not that she blamed him, no, she blamed herself.

Harry shivered beneath her cool, probing fingers and felt a tear roll down his cheek. Petunia frowned a the moisture filming his eyes and with startlingly gentle care, wiped the tears away.

"None of that now." She sighed. "You've been unconscious for over a week now. Doctor Summers, the man who ran a few tests on you this morning, called me in. Apparently he has news for us. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Petunia knew her voice trembled and that she didn't sound particularly hopeful, but Harry apparently was still bemused by the unnatural amount of care she was showing him.

"Why do you care?" The dark haired boy's eyes were suspicious and yet... Hopeful.

Petunia's heart nearly broke. Even after all this time the boy was hopeful that she cared for him, hopeful that he wasn't alone in this mess that was called life. "I care because you're my nephew. I might not have shown it often, and I only have myself to blame for that, but I _do_ care for you."

It had just taken the revelation that her sisters son might _die_ for her to admit that. Petunia sighed in self disgust.

Harry sighed and smiled slightly, a twisting of thin, boyish lips to light up his whole face in blissful happiness. He didn't care whether the words were real or not, he was simply happy that his Aunt appeared to care.

"Now, why don't you tell me about your scar on your arm?" Petunia suggested, tapping the circular cicatrix pointedly, her eyebrow raised.

Harry froze his eyes wide with shock. "It happened at... School."

Petunia noted the clunky pause in the middle of his words and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I realised that, Harry. Why don't you tell me how it came to be?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, looking vaguely fish-like to his Aunt's mind. He clearly wasn't expecting an inquisition about his 'unnaturally freaky' school. "Um."

Petunia sat back, her arms folded in her lap, pointedly waiting for her explanation. Harry gaped at her for a while before he realised there really was no getting out of this, and that his Aunt was reminding him forcibly of Professor McGonagall his transfiguration teacher.

"Uh, well..." Harry licked his lips nervously, guessing that his Aunt wouldn't be appreciative of this story. "It happened at.. School. There was this.. Thing. A diary..." He shot Petunia a nervous look and seemed reassured at her bland expression.

"Well, the diary was given to my best mate Ron's little sister, see? But it made her do bad things. It.. Poss.. Possied... Possesse.." Harry stumbled over the word, his sleep drugged mind having trouble recalling what he wanted to say.

"Possessed." Petunia suggested, unhappily.

"Yeah!" Harry agreed cheerfully. "So Ron and I climbed down this tunnel thing with our defence professor, who was a right git! Bloody useless!"

Petunia refrained from commenting on her nephews language, more interested in getting the full story.

"Anyway, so Lockheart tried to steal Ron's wand, he was a fraud you see, wanted to pretend that we lost our minds at the sight of Ginny's body."

Petunia froze. "What?" She asked. "Who is Ginny?"

Harry blinked. "Oh! Ginny was Ron's sister." He explained.

"Was?"

"Yeah, she's okay though. Bit shaken up from Riddle." Harry agreed.

"Okay Harry, I need you to stop and start at the beginning for me, I'm a bit confused. Why were you going down the tunnel?" Petunia asked, trying to remain calm.

"Oh well, Hermione had been petrified, see?" Harry said, looking confused.

Petunia stared. "Petrified? Like stone?"

"Yeah. It was scary. People, muggle-borns were being petrified everywhere." Harry tried to explain.

"Muggle-borns? People born to non-magical parents?" Petunia clarified, remembering Lily trying to explain about 'blood status', apparently not much had changed since the seventies.

"Yeah, how'd you know about that?" Harry asked, looking confused.

"Your mother was a muggle-born Harry, and we were close once." Petunia sighed tiredly. "So yes, I do know something of the magical world."

Harry stared at her in shock.

"The scar Harry, how did you get it?" She asked once more. "And start at the beginning!"

Harry bit his lip. "I've been hearing voice all year. Saying they want to 'rip, tear, kill', and the muggle-borns were being attacked and petrified including Hermione. Then a few weeks ago Ginny, Ron's sister goes missing. We thought it was Hagrid, he's the gamekeeper, because this diary showed me this memory of Hagrid letting this spider loose on the school."

"But?" Petunia murmured, encouraging the boy in his story.

"But it wasn't! It was this boy called Tom Riddle, he's the past version of Voldemort when he was at school!" Harry looked horrified.

Petunia's heart clenched. Voldemort, the man who had cost Petunia her sister and mother and nearly her nephew. _He was still alive?_

"He set a basilisk on the school! It was huge!" Harry was speaking really quickly now, the words spilling out of his mouth in verbal diarrhoea. "It was like sixty feet, and I could hear it in the school walls. That was the voice I heard! Hermione figured it out before she was petrified."

Petunia was feeling slightly faint, a sixty-foot snake had been _loose_ in a school of teenage students? What kind of school was this?

"But I killed it with this sword I pulled from the school sorting hat. Professor Dumbledore said that only a true Gryffindor could have managed that." Petunia watched her nephew puff out his chest in pride before collapsing once more in exhaustion on his pillow. "The snake bit me, but Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's Phoenix healed me, so I'm alright."

Harry gave his Aunt a lop-sided grin.

Petunia had never felt such rage, her lips thinned and she stared down at her nephew in shock and horror. "So you're alright? _Alright_?!" She hissed angrily. "You are in a _hospital_. You nearly _died_ last week. You nearly _died_ three weeks _before_ that? _And you didn't tell me?_"

Petunia was livid. Mostly in rage at herself, of course the boy would be proud at receiving any kind of acceptance or approbation from a man he looked up to. And now, Petunia felt she knew exactly why Harry Potter had been put on her doorstep all those years ago. He would have been loved and cared for anywhere else, but with Petunia, Dumbledore knew, he knew that Petunia would likely starve the boy of affection. What better to hold sway over a child than become his saviour? The question was why. Why was this necessary?

Harry was cringing back against his sheets in fright, staring up at his aunt with wide green eyes.

"You recklessly endangered your life! Why didn't you get _a teacher_?" Petunia demanded.

Harry shrugged, "dunno." He mumbled.

"_You don't know?_"

Harry bit his lip. Just like Lily had when she was in trouble. Petunia felt her self soften under the tears eyed gaze of the young boy who had the misfortune of being Dumbledore's favoured student, just as his father had once been all those years ago. Petunia still had a letter from Lily, that she had never replied to, complaining of Dumbledore's special treatment of the so-called Marauders and their antics. Petunia had an awful feeling that history was repeating itself in the green eyed boy before her.

Petunia deflated and moved forwards, pulling her nephew into a tight hug. She wouldn't lose what she had just discovered, the young boy with messy black hair would not be lost to her as her red-haired sister was. Petunia wouldn't allow it. Petunia _couldn't_ allow it, she didn't think she could survive Harry's death after the revelation that he was far more than a burden or a freak. He was her nephew and she would be damned to God before she lost him to Albus fucking Dumbledore.

"Promise me, and I really mean this Harry, promise me you won't ever do that again!" Petunia said, her voice tight. "Please, I've lost my sister, don't make me lose you too."

Harry felt an odd sort of warmth in his chest, he had no idea why his Aunt was clinging to him like she clung to Dudley, but he rather liked it. Her words seemed pretty reasonable, and he nodded wordlessly, soaking up the warmth offered to him by his normally frigid aunt and was rewarded by the slight tightening of his aunts arms.

"Now, what else have you gotten up to at school?" Petunia asked, hoping that it wasn't too bad.

Harry smiled brilliantly and happily chattered away about his classes, what ones he liked, which he didn't and what new ones he had chosen for his third year. Petunia listen making the appropriate noises in the right places and laughed with Harry as he described the defence teacher loosing against his potions professor, Severus Snape. Petunia marvelled at the scrawny boy she had once known becoming a respected professor and teaching the newest generation of students.

Petunia frowned at Harry's decision regarding his third year subjects and tilted the boys head up allowing Harry to note her disapproval. Harry paled slightly and then flushed. Petunia hummed lightly and then challenged his choices.

"You chose your third year subjects based on them being an easy 'O'?" She asked quietly. "I remember your mother spending two weeks discussing her options with her parents, and I know I've not been the best Aunt and frankly you've deserved better, however I'm not about to let you throw your life away because you've decided to become lazy now you're out of arms reach of me.

"I know that these subject will affect your life and that your decision has been poorly made. Tell me Harry, do you know what you want to be when you are an adult?" Petunia stared at her nephew pointedly.

Harry shook his head sourly.

"What if I told you that your father was something called an Auror, which I believe is a magical policeman? And your mother, Lily was studying to become a Healer at the wizarding hospital?" Petunia said calmly.

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock, and Petunia could clearly see that that single sentence had changed Harry's entire outlook.

"And what if I told you that both your mother and your father were at the top of their classes and would undoubtably be very disappointed in their son refusing to do his very best because his best friend is lazy." Petunia added.

Harry whitened in shock. "They would?" He asked unhappily.

"I know I would be if Dudley made such choices for those reasons." Petunia agreed. "Particularly if he was as clever as you are. You're forgetting that I've raised both of you and I know what you are both capable of. I expect you to owl your school when you are able and change your course materiel to suit what gives you the best chance of a good job."

Harry nodded, chastened. "Yes Aunt Petunia."

"Good boy." Petunia said, smiling.

Harry brightened happily under the rare praise.

X

Doctor Summers found his patient and his Aunt playing a game of chess that was worn and battered, he presumed that it had been found by one of the Nurses at reception and for a moment, the clipboard in his hands filled with the results of Harry's test weighed more than what he imagined the world could. The boy was thirteen, he didn't need to bear this burden, and the Aunt, Petunia, would be devastated.

Doctor Summers knew that the boy and his aunt hardly had the best of relationships, and he suspected that the aunt might even have once resented the boy for his good behaviour or whatever. Her expression was often strangely sorrowed and pained. The good Doctor watched as Petunia moved her bishop to take Harry's unlucky knight. Whatever Petunia's problems with her nephew, something had clearly changed, and for that, Doctor Summers was pleased.

"Nice try, Harry. But chess was your mother's favourite game when we were kids, particularly after she came back from school." Petunia laughed.

Harry shot his aunt a sour glare and pouted at the board. "I never win at this game. Ron always beats me." He grumbled.

Petunia ruffled the boys hair cheerfully.

Doctor Summers gently knocked on the glass door and entered the room, sliding the door closed and shutting the blinds for privacy. "Good evening." He greeted the pair gently, his voice as soothing as possible.

"You have the results then?" Petunia asked hopefully.

Doctor Summers nodded in quiet agreement. "I do, Mrs. Dursley. I'm afraid it's not good news."

He drew in a deep breath and took the seat that stood empty by Harry's bedside. Petunia was seated on the bed, with Harry's wheeling table separating her from her suddenly pale and grave nephew, her eyes were filled with fear and tears.

"Harry has been diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia or more commonly known as AML." The Doctor paused. "Do you know what leukaemia is, Mrs. Dursley, Harry?" He asked.

It was hospital policy to ensure that patients and their family knew what to expect or what was affecting the patient. Leukaemia was by far one of the hardest diseases to explain, there were so many different types and each one varied from type to type and patient to patient that it was hard to ensure that the patient and family knew that everything that was relevant.

Petunia had pushed aside the chess game and pulled Harry into a tight embrace, their skinny bodies digging into the other, but neither protested, revelling in the chance to experience some form of familial comfort. Harry was trembling, he had heard of leukaemia, and he thought that it was a kind of cancer, but he didn't know much, while Petunia was desperately trying to kept the tears at bay. She knew exactly what to expect, she had heard from Mrs. Douglas at Number Two, that her brother had been affected by a form of leukaemia and had passed away as a result.

"No." Harry murmured, looking up at his aunt, surprised to see tears in her eyes.

Petunia's lip wobbled slightly and she nodded sharply.

Doctor Summers sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair. "Normally your blood is made up of three different types of cells; you have your red blood cells that transport oxygen around your body, your platelets which help your blood clot when you cut yourself and you have the white blood cells which help fight infections in your body.

"When a person gets AML leukaemia they suffer from abnormal white blood cells which are made in your bone marrow. These abnormal cells are immature and are unable to develop into normal functioning blood cells. Depending on which kind of cell is made abnormally, different consequences occur.

"When you have immature red blood cells the body is unable to transport enough oxygen to and around the body. While immature platelets cause the patients blood to refuse to clot properly. When immature white blood cells are created the bodies ability to fight of infection is greatly reduced."

Doctor Summers stared at the thirteen year old for a moment. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Harry?"

Harry, who had missed most of junior science at school owing to his going to Hogwarts, a school of magic, didn't, and so shook his head. "No sir. What is a cell?" He asked.

Petunia blushed lightly. "I'll tell you later Harry." She murmured. At Doctor Summers dumbfounded expression her colour darkened. "Harry is very gifted at English and the arts, and was allowed to drop basic science when it became clear that he had trouble understanding it."

Harry opened his mouth to refute the statement before subsiding at his aunts piercing glare.

Doctor Summers nodded in mild confusion. What sort of school refused their students a basic scientific knowledge because he had trouble with it? Disregarding his question for the moment, the Doctor continued to explain what AML was.

"Now, in most types of AML, the leukaemia cells are immature white blood cells, and while Harry does have a lot of those, his immature red blood cells are by far the most prolific. Which accounts for his unnatural fatigue. These immature red blood cells are filling up Harry's bone marrow, taking up space that is needed to make normal red blood cells.

"Some of these leukaemia cells have 'spilled over' into the blood and are circulating around the body in Harry's blood stream. Because these cells never mature, and so never work properly, there is an increased risk of infection, as well as symptoms such as anaemia and bruising which is caused by fewer healthy red and white blood cells and platelets being made."

Doctor Summers paused once more. "Recently there has been a lot of research put into the understanding of cancer, in particular leukaemia, and there is a seventy percent survival rate thanks to the creation of something called 'chemotherapy'.

"Now chemotherapy is the use of chemical medication to treat diseases, more specifically, chemotherapy typically refers to the destruction of cancer cells. Now chemotherapy is the systematic destruction of unhealthy cells in the body; this means that chemotherapy differs from surgery or radiation because the drug travels through the body to reach the cancer cells wherever they are.

"Now chemotherapy can be administered through various ways such as oral, or through the mouth, intravenous, or through a vein in your arm, intramuscular where the drug is injected into a muscle, usually a patients buttock of subcutaneous where the drug is injected beneath the skin. As Harry is a minor and his leukaemia is particularly virulent, he will be taking a combination of both oral in the form of tablets and intravenous through an IV drip.

"Because Harry's chemotherapy will be both extensive and frequent, we will be putting a catheter into the main vein that runs through his chest, which will allow ease of access and will be less likely to collapse the vein as would happen should we continuously use a vein in his arm or leg.

"Do you understand so far?"

Petunia Dursley was staring at the Doctor in shock, the overload of information that had flooded her brain was almost too much to take in and she was sitting there, clinging to her uncomfortable nephew while trying to process everything the youthful Doctor had just told her.

Harry had no idea what was going on and suspected that his Aunt didn't particularly enjoy what she was being told. As the Doctor had continued to talk so her hold had become tighter and tighter, until he felt he could barely breath. All Harry knew was that he would be taking nasty medication that would probably make him very sick. It would be like the potions at school.

Doctor Summers sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. "I'll ensure the nurse on duty will drop you a leaflet, I know it's a lot to take in right now. Just understand that if Harry takes all his medication, he will survive and grow to be very old and very grey with a lot of grandchildren."

Petunia let out a choked sob and nodded quickly. "Thank you." She breathed.

Doctor Summers nodded. "Any questions?"

"Do I have to stay here?" Harry asked, looking around the bland white room.

Doctor Summers chuckled. "Yes, Harry. You're too weak to go home right now, maybe in a few weeks if the treatments are working like they should."

"When do his treatments starts?" Petunia asked worriedly.

"Next week. Harry will be transferred to the Royal Marsden Hospital in Chelsea, London tomorrow. They look after all cancer patients, young and old in the South Thames area. They have the best equipment and facilities to deal with cancer patients, and are the leading researchers for a cancer cure in southern England." Doctor Summers explained.

Petunia nodded. "When will he be transferred? I would like to accompany him."

"I'm not sure, but not until the afternoon at the earliest I would imagine. I'll make sure that you are notified if it is earlier." Doctor Summers promised. "My colleague and good friend, Doctor Ryan Goodwin will be taking Harry on as a patient. He's a good man who will do everything in his power to ensure Harry comes out of this happy an healthy."

Petunia nodded and hugged Harry tighter once again. Harry squirmed a bit but allowed the rare treatment to continue.

"Thank you, Doctor Summers." Petunia breathed, a tear stealing its way down her cheek.

The Doctor nodded sadly and stood. "I'm sorry it couldn't be better news, but don't despair, I'm certain Harry will make it through this." Doctor Summers said calmly.

With a small sad smile at Harry, Doctor Summers walked from the room, leaving a boy and his aunt to reflect on what they had learned.


End file.
